


The Everything

by der_tanzer



Series: Rapid Eye Movement [2]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:36:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip to the mall turns into a big adventure when Murray forgets one small thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Everything

Ten days after Ted Quinlan officially lost his sight, Murray told him that he needed new clothes. There was a convention in town and Murray had been asked to speak. Ted agreed to go—he’d ride double on a burro to the bottom of the Grand Canyon before he’d stay home alone—but he hadn’t known that would mean shopping. He clung to his softly broken in jeans and slightly worn Izods and Polos because he felt like himself inside the familiar fabric. Like a turtle in its shell, he would be okay so long as he had a comfortable outer layer to protect him.

But now he was hearing that it was a semi-formal occasion. Not black or white tie, but not jeans and alligator shirts, either. He weighed his options—considering staying home, wearing something inappropriate, or letting Murray drag him all over LA in search of something that he, Murray, would find acceptable. The first option was still out, and if he was going to appear in public as Murray’s companion, nearly twice his age and blind to boot, he should probably try to look his best. But that also precluded option three, since Murray had no fashion sense of his own. He’d promised Ted not to dress him funny, but it was already becoming clear that the kid just didn’t understand what ‘funny’ meant.

That was how they ended up at the mall on a Saturday afternoon, not realizing they’d picked just about the worst day shy of Christmas Eve to embark on this little adventure. A ridiculously popular music group of some kind, a gang of flannel wearing Portlanders who never washed their hair (according to Murray, who had once seen them on TV), would be signing CDs and playing a little at the Sam Goody, and it had the entire multi-level building in a tizzy.

The noise hit them as soon as they walked in the door, even though Sam Goody was all the way at the other end of the corridor and off to the right somewhere. Ted felt the air move as people hurried past him in vast unknowable numbers, and gripped Murray’s elbow tighter. He drew his cane in closer, restricting the perimeter of safe space he maintained around himself, and still someone kicked it and yelled at him to get out of the way. Murray tried to yell something back and only managed a few ineffectual sputterings. The offender flipped him the bird and raced on, his flannel shirt billowing behind him.

“It’s alright,” Ted whispered, pressing closer to his side. “Don’t let these assholes get you flustered or we’re both doomed.”

“I had no idea Log Jam was going to be here today or I never would have suggested it,” Murray said unhappily.

“It’s okay, babe. Just let me walk behind you so we don’t take up as much space.” He released Murray’s elbow and placed his hand lightly between the sharp shoulder blades, holding his cane upright like a staff in his other hand. People still bumped into Murray, throwing them off balance, and they nearly fell once when someone crashed into Ted from behind. He clutched Murray’s shirt then and held onto it, suddenly terrified of being separated. It was their first time in an over-crowded venue and he hadn’t known how vulnerable he’d feel.

Fortunately they made it to the end of the main corridor and the tide of people broke right to head for Sam Goody’s, while their destination, ZZ’s Tops (‘Cause Everybody Wants To Be A Sharp Dressed Man), was to the left. Ted felt the space open up around him, noticed the sudden decrease in the scent of unwashed bodies, and let go of Murray’s shirt to take his elbow again. He automatically smoothed the material first, knowing it would be wrinkled by his sweaty hand, and heard a passerby mutter _faggots_. Murray flinched and Ted responded to both by striking the tile floor just a little too hard with the tip of his cane. He didn’t know the result, although he guessed Murray was blushing. He hoped the offender was ashamed of himself, and then smiled a little. Maybe he shouldn’t mind them saying it since it was true.

“Are you okay?” he whispered a moment later.

“Of course I’m okay. I’m with you,” Murray said smoothly. As if he hadn’t flinched and wasn't still blushing now. He’d assumed that no one would bother them since blind people were frequently guided by companions of the same gender. Now he wondered what it was that gave them away.

“You know I can hear you lie,” Quinlan teased, hoping to make him blush a little darker even though he couldn’t see it.

“But it’s true. You can fend off attackers with your cane, like Rutger Hauer in that awful movie.”

“Yeah, that was pretty bad,” he agreed, although he’d always kind of liked Rutger Hauer.

“Here it is,” Murray said quietly. “Turning right.” The doorway was narrow—better to deter shoplifters with—and he guided Ted through with a hand on his back.

***

They bought two shirts and a jacket at ZZ’s, then headed for Mr. Fancypants, which took them distressingly close to Sam Goody’s. But Ted’s hand was steady on Murray’s elbow, his cane making quiet, even sweeps of the floor just ahead of his toes. If he was afraid he gave no sign of it, and Murray took courage from his strength.

The pants were harder to shop for than the shirts, just because he had to try them on, make sure they hung properly and that he could sit down without exposing a mile of sock. Murray stood outside the dressing room until he was needed to offer his opinion. Out of the three pairs he tried on, one met his strict standards for formal wear and Murray approved.

“Do you think you need new shoes?” he asked as the clerk rang up their purchase.

“How the hell should I know? Are my black loafers still okay? Not too scuffed?”

“Nothing a little polish won’t fix. I’ll take care of them tonight.” Murray carried the bags in his right hand and they ventured out of the store. There were more kids now—and not just kids, he noticed with some surprise. Some of these unwashed, Doc Martin wearing longhairs had to be in their thirties. But they were pushing and shoving every bit as much as the fifteen year olds. Someone walked into Ted, tripping over his cane and stepping on his foot before giving him a shove and yelling at him to watch out. Murray started to yell after him but Ted felt it coming and gave his arm a pinch. A person like that might come back and hit one or both of them if they made too big a fuss.

“Is there a place to sit down, baby?” he whispered. “A bench or something?”

“There’s one across the aisle. We’ll have to cross the current, but it’s thinned out a little. They seem to come in waves.”

“Bus schedule, maybe,” Ted answered obscurely. “Just let me sit down a minute. I don’t care where.”

Fortunately Murray was on the upstream side. He guided Ted across in stops and starts, pausing like a machine whenever someone cut them off. Ted kept his cane close, afraid of tripping anyone, and clung tightly to Murray’s arm.

“The bench is right here,” Murray said in his low, guiding voice. They both instinctively spoke more softly when giving or asking for instructions, as if it was a secret. Murray always thought of the way pilots and co-pilots murmured together in the cockpit, only rarely sharing their thoughts with the rest of the crew, let alone the passengers. How they got where they were going was their business and theirs alone.

Ted nodded and let Murray back him up until his knees touched the bench. He bent and sat so easily that one would have to be paying close attention to see the slight hesitation. In this crowd, he didn’t think anyone was. Murray set the bags beside him and Ted folded his cane, holding it protectively in his lap.

“Do you just want to rest a minute? Do you need me to sit here with you?”

“Why, do you see something you just _have_ to get a better look at?” he teased.

“Well, we _are_ right in front of Electric Avenue,” Murray said apologetically. 

“No, that’s fine. You’ll be close by, won’t you?”

“Right at the end of the bench. I just want to look through the window.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Ted assured him, placing one hand on the bags so they wouldn’t disappear, either. He heard Murray’s footsteps fading into the crowd, but recognized that they only seemed to fade so fast because the ambient noise was so high. He wasn’t really alone.

Then the music started and it couldn’t have been more than two stores down. Ted hadn’t realized it was so close. He turned his head in that direction and the expression on his face was hopeful. He knew Murray had gone that way and presumed him to be within a few steps. Surely he would see the hopeful look and come back. But he didn’t.

People were pushing and shoving more, and several of them stepped on his feet. He heard someone mutter _watch it_ and wondered if the command was meant for him. He kind of hoped so. Then it would at least be funny. Ted liked funny and so far this wasn’t. The crowd got louder, the vast mall corridor seemed to shrink, and everywhere he turned his senses, he encountered a vast number of people. Too many people for his taste, even when he could see. Too many by half.

“Murray?” he called softly in his low, I’m-blind-but-I-don’t-need- _your_ -help voice. And no one stopped to help him. “Murray, where are you?” he called, louder this time. He heard the quick shuffle of hesitating feet, but they weren’t Murray’s and they didn’t hesitate long.

“Murray?” he called, panic beginning to nibble around the edges of his mind. The kid couldn’t be more than three feet away and there was no reason at all for him not to hear. Suddenly Ted didn’t care if other people heard him. He didn’t even care if they recognized him for what he was—a frightened blind man alone in a crowd. They could point or laugh or pity him if they wanted. Like Murray always said, it wasn’t like he had to see them.

Ted snapped his cane out full length, nearly tripping a passerby who apologized to him. He didn’t have it coming, but he accepted it in place of the ones that did. Leaving the bags on the bench, he stood up and turned to the right, the way he’d heard Murray go. That should get his attention. Tripping the man who’d apologized didn’t, but now that he was standing, Murray had to see him. He had to be _right_ there. Yet he wasn’t.

“Murray?” he cried, eager for the first time ever to have people notice him and see that he was blind. If Murray had somehow gone away, he would need help finding him. The more help the better. “Murray, where are you?” Touching the bench with one hand and clearing a path with his cane, he started timidly into the flow of the crowd. “Murray? Murray, where the fuck _are_ you?”

A woman’s voice told him to watch his mouth and a couple of males laughed. He reached the end of the bench, his last bit of familiarity, and called out again. Another woman paused and asked if he needed help.

“I need Murray. He’s a tall guy? Real skinny, brown hair, glasses? Do you see him anywhere?”

“No, I’m sorry. Do you want me to help you look?”

“Please. He couldn’t have gone far. He said he was just going to look in the window.”

“Probably just went inside for a better look at something. Which store would he go to?”

“The—uh—electronics store. Isn’t that right here?”

She started to answer when the first chords of some oddly discordant song began to play. Even Ted recognized this one from the radio, and suddenly everyone around them was moving faster. He tried to ask again if she could see Murray, but the woman was gone. He struggled to clear his mind and think rationally—if Murray had gone this way then the door must be on his right, and it had to be the closest door or Murray wouldn’t have said he’d just be at the end of the bench. It had to be right here. He stopped abruptly to switch the cane to his other hand. It was supposed to be on his left, as he was right-handed, but this was a specific need. He _had_ to find the doorway.

But just as he was transferring it to his other hand, someone jostled him hard from behind and the cane flew out of his grasp. Off-balance, he reached for it and someone else bumped him. He went down on his hands and knees, groping for the cane, still calling for Murray. Someone kicked it and it rolled away, the sound lost under the rising music.

“Murray? Murray!” He was screaming now, but the singer was, too, and everyone else had joined in. He scrambled backward, searching for the bench, and someone running past stepped on his hand. Blood oozed between his fingers, slicking the tile floor. Only in a California shopping mall could a blind ex-cop get trampled by fans of a band called Log Jam. “Murray, for Christ’s sake…” he yelled, almost sobbing now.

“Ted? Oh my God, Ted!” 

He would know that voice anywhere. It sounded distant, lost in the noise of the band and the crowd, but a sense of peace overcame him nonetheless. He huddled against the bench, thinking irrationally that if he moved, Murray might not be able to find him again. Then he felt those skinny arms around him and pressed his face to a welcoming shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Ted. I’m sorry. I’m so, _so_ sorry,” Murray chanted, hugging him hard. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said after a moment, when he was sure his voice wouldn’t shake. “I’m okay now. Help me up, baby.”

Murray held onto his hand as he rose, maintaining the connection, and steadied Ted while he found his feet. They held hands all the way back to the bench where, surprisingly, the bags remained. This time they sat down together and Murray put his arm around Ted’s shoulder.

“Where did you think you were going, Lieutenant? And what happened to your hand?”

“I was looking for you. I figured you were inside the store.” He held out his wounded hand, stamped with the heavy tread of a Doc Martin boot, and let Murray wrap a handkerchief around it.

“I was. I’m so sorry. I just saw an LP-304 Ricksal converter and you know how hard those are to find. It’s no excuse, I know, but I got distracted. I’m so sor—”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, smiling strangely. “I don’t want to hear any more apologies.”

“What? But, Ted, I—”

“Didn’t I just tell you to shut up?” he asked, still smiling. “You got distracted. That’s what you said, isn’t it?”

“Yes. By the LP-304. They never have those in stock—just the 104s. I guess because most people don’t use three phase power in their everyday lives.”

“Right, that’s probably just us. But you’re missing the point. You forgot I was blind, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Murray said softly. “I’m so ashamed, Ted.”

“Don’t be. That’s about the best compliment you’ve ever given me.”

“Really?”

“What, you don’t think it’s a compliment to forget I’m crippled? Hell, it’s the nicest thing you _could_ say. So,” he went on when Murray, still trying to process the concept, didn’t reply, “that LP-304. Are you gonna buy it?”

“Yeah, I think I should. You want to come with me?”

“No, you go ahead. I’ll wait here.” He slid his dark glasses down his nose and winked at Murray with one sightless blue eye.

“Okay, Lieutenant. If you need anything, just yell.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. And, in spite of everything, Murray knew he would.


End file.
